Drink You Away
by crossing.stars
Summary: The term "good grief" was not one that Draco liked. An oxymoron, it concealed the truth of what grief truly was. Grief was pain and tears and memories so happy they hurt. And for Draco, grief was a half empty bottle of Odgen's Best Firewhiskey and his pensieve. Draco mourns his loss and maybe gains a couple new allies. Maybe. This is a one-shot song fic!


**DISCLAIMER:** **I do not own Harry Potter or and affiliated terms/characters. I also do not have the rights to the song Drink You Away by Justin Timberlake.**

The term "good grief" was not one that Draco liked. An oxymoron, it concealed the truth of what grief truly was. Grief was pain and tears and memories so happy they hurt. And for Draco, grief was a half empty bottle of Odgen's Best Firewhiskey and his pensieve. His head was pounding so hard he had a hard time concentrating on the memory at hand. It was of the first time he'd kissed Hermione Granger, two years after he fled the school after failing to kill Dumbledore, at the end of their "eighth year". He had been one of the only Slytherins to return, as it was required of him by the Wizengamot. He and Granger – Hermione – had developed a friendship that was uneasy and tense at first, but soon relaxed and, for him, turned into something much more. She'd been studying for her Transfiguration N.E.W.T when she finally slammed her books shut with a wave of her hand and a loud thud.

 _"Granger?" Draco asked, looking up from his own studying. "What's wrong?" Hermione blew a stay curl from her face in frustration, and Draco hid his smile. He'd become quite attached to the unruly mane for all it tried to choke him when he had begun, reluctantly at first, to accept the hugs she forced upon him._

 _"If I read any more about how different the effects of Human Transfiguration and Polyjuice Potion are, I might explode! Not least because I brewed Polyjuice my second year! I mean, honestly, who wouldn't know that Human Transfiguration is dangerous if not performed correctly and lasts as long as the caster can keep up the spell, whereas Polyjuice can be just as dangerous if the brewer isn't precise and the effects only last an hour?" Hermione's eyes shone with fire, and Draco gave up on hiding his grin. Merlin, she was so beautiful. Her dark brows were furrowed and her cheeks were pink. Draco let his eyes roam over her face, taking in her small, button nose and long, sooty lashes that surrounded eyes the color of Scotch, complementing her olive complexion. When he came to her soft, pink lips he realized she was still talking. Well, that just won't do, Draco thought to himself, leaning towards her slightly, trying to gauge her reaction. She didn't notice, too busy waving her hands around and complaining about the idiocy of the authors of the textbooks she had been reading. Good._

 _Draco grabbed one of her flying hands with his and cupped her cheek with the other, pausing only slightly to register the confusion on her face and the loud pounding of his heart before he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips with his. Her bottom lip was slightly chapped on one side where she worried it constantly throughout the day, and Draco briefly considered swiping his tongue along it to soothe it before she was responding to him, her lips parting with a sigh. Her free hand came up to cover his on her cheek as she kissed him back eagerly. When the two finally broke apart, they were breathing hard and Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unwilling to let go of her to fix himself in his trousers. Hermione's eyes were half-lidded, her lashes nearly brushing her cheek, and her mouth was slightly swollen._

 _Draco cleared his throat and removed his hand from her face, but held on to the one he'd captured earlier. He smirked and said, "If you're so wound up, Granger, how about a walk around the Black Lake? Some fresh air would do you good, I'd say. You look flushed." Hermione's blush grew, and so did his smirk._

 _It turned into a real smile, though, when she shyly whispered, "I'd like that, Draco."_

Draco sighed as he left the pensieve, stumbling just a bit as he reached for the aforementioned bottle of Firewhiskey. He took a long swig, not even wincing when the liquid burned its way down his throat to settle uneasily in his stomach. He dreamed about that day often, as it signified the true beginning of their relationship. They had strolled around the Black Lake, sunshine reflecting off Granger's chestnut curls, talking about nothing and yet everything. His heart soared when he took her hand in his, and he was met with a blinding smile from the small witch. When the sun began to set, he walked her back to Gryffindor Tower, ignoring her protests when he shouldered her bag. He dropped her off with a chaste kiss, ignoring the Fat Lady's wistful sigh and handing Granger her bag.

Toeing off his expensive Dragonhide loafers, Draco staggered towards his bed, collapsing fully clothed and praying to whoever would listen that he did not dream about her again.

His prayers went unanswered, of course, and he woke with burning eyes, a pounding head, and an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. For a moment, Draco just lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if it was possible that someone up there had it out for him. The pain in his chest indicated that they just might. Granger would have laughed at him for thinking that, and Draco winced. Thinking about her made his chest tighten, the pressure increasing until it felt like he was being suffocated. He sat up swiftly, causing a pained groan to leave his lips as his hands immediately flew to his head, gripping it on both sides as he tried to stop the banging that was currently making his vision fuzzy. With a trembling hand, he reached over to his nightstand and snatched up the bottle, quickly downing the remaining third of the alcohol in hopes to subdue his raging hangover. It had two immediate effects; the first was that, now that the bottle was empty, the amber liquid inside would no longer remind him of the color of Granger's eyes, and the second was that he rushed into the loo that was attached to his bedroom, emptying the dubious contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Firewhiskey, Draco noted, burned much more on the way up than it did on the way down. Muggle liquor was the same, he reflected, recalling the time Granger had gone into Muggle London and returned with four bottles of the stuff. Draco loved Vodka, but the feeling was not mutual. He recalled getting so pissed that Hermione had to quickly conjure a bucket, lest he vomit on her pretty little Mary Janes. She had warned him not to drink too much, as the stuff she'd bought was likely to get him drunk much faster than Firewhiskey, especially when mixed. But Draco hadn't listened and, after trying all four drinks, poured a portion of each into a cup, calling it his "Special Mix". The next morning, when he woke up with no recollection of returning to the dungeons or changing into his night clothes, Draco vowed to listen to Granger more often and to only drink in moderation. He broke that vow the following weekend.

As Draco stood on shaky legs and flushed the toilet, he hesitantly raised his head to study himself in the mirror. It was not what he expected himself to look like, given that he was an incredibly high-functioning drunk. His skin was sallow, and there were dark purple smudges under his eyes from lack of sleep. His eyes were an eerie sight, a mercurial silver that glowed in stark contrast to the bloodshot background. He had dark blond stubble, and Draco just knew that if he lifted his arm and sniffed, he'd keel over. After splashing water on his face, Draco gave a great sigh, followed by a shrug, and returned to his room to grab his wand and cast a quick Scourgify that left his skin stinging. A quick look out his window told him that it was dark and, if he left now, he'd make it to the Hog's Head before most of the usual patrons showed up.

When he walked into the pub, Draco's eyes were drawn to a flaming head of hair sitting at the bar, shoulders slumped, clearly drunk already. He ignored the bar and Weasley in favor of a small, two-person table in the far corner where he could observe the door and all those in the pub without moving very much at all.

Needless to say, Draco was one again pissed when he returned home that evening. Or early morning, if one wanted to be technical. He made sure to change into his night clothes this time before falling into bed, as sleeping in a button down and trousers was mighty uncomfortable. Draco reached out and snagged the pillow next to his, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The scent of roses, old books, and ink invaded his senses and he closed his eyes against the burn and a suspicious wetness that he refused to allow to escape. Granger's scent still lingered on her pillow and their sheets thanks to the preservation charm he'd initially cast six months ago. Draco still couldn't decide if it was a good idea that he renewed the charm every two weeks.

Six months of pain, six months of dreams and six months of waking up with wet streaks under his eyes. Draco knew it wasn't healthy to try and drink away the memories. They were such good memories. He remembered making love to Granger in this very bed, waking up to her every morning and thanking Merlin that she loved him back. He remembered admiring her curves in the early morning light, marveling at her beautiful olive skin, comparing it to his own pale skin with a wistfulness that he would never admit aloud. Draco was not a man that wrote poetry, even if Hermione Granger's beauty made him contemplate it nearly every day, until the day she was gone. Eyes heavy from the copious amounts of alcohol, Draco allowed himself to fall into a deep slumber, his last concious thought of the way Granger's mouth parted in ecstasy at his ministrations, his name falling from her lips like a prayer.

Draco's days were much the same, these days. If he ever woke up early enough to eat breakfast, he would leave his flat to pick up a scone from the small cafe down the street and bring it home, taking small bites between sips of whatever alcohol he could find. Then, he would go to his room and immerse himself in his memories of his relationship with Granger. Afterward, he would mentally curse the fact that there wasn't a potion or charm to rid him of his constant heartbreak. He didn't know of any, at least, and didn't bother researching beyond whether or not a Calming Draught would work. Research was painful; it reminded him so much of Granger, who always had her bushy head stuck in some book or another. The Calming Draught didn't work, anyway.

After this, Draco would make his way to the Hog's Head, taking his normal table and ignoring the redhead at the bar. The one year anniversary of Granger's death, however, found Draco and Weasley both in considerably worse shape than usual. So when a man loudly proclaimed that he was "Glad that mudblood bitch got what was coming to her," they both were on their feet in seconds, wands aimed at the man in question.

"What did you just say?" Weasley snarled, knuckles white from the harsh grip on his wand.

"I said," the man grinned, pushing back from his chair to stand as well, making no move to go for his wand. "I'm glad that stupid mudblood bitch got what was coming to her. Things like that don't deserve to live, let alone have magic." He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking in a way that reminded Draco of his younger self. The man's sleeve had ridden up and Draco could see the faded Dark Mark there, fitting in with the rest of the man's ensemble; dark hair, dark eyes, dark robes.

"I'll thank you to never say that in my presence again," Draco growled. Weasley's watery, bloodshot eyes met his for a brief moment before returning to the man in front of him.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot you kept it as a pet, Little Malfoy. Forgive me," his smile was insincere and Draco took an angry step forward, his wand never leaving its position, pointed directly at the chest of the scum that dared utter a foul word about his precious Granger.

"No, I don't think I will," Draco ground out, eyes narrowing. He saw Weasley take a step out of the corner of his eye, mirroring his stance.

The man tutted, uncrossing his arms and placing his hands on his hips as if scolding a child. "Don't tell me you actually cared about the little thing?" Seeing Draco's grip tighten on his wand, the man threw his head back and laughed. "Come on, Malfoy, it was just a mudbl-"

Draco didn't know who cast the first curse, but the man fell to the ground before he could finish his sentence, simultaneously retching up slugs while trying to fend off a flock of angry little yellow birds. The pub that had previously been silent while Draco and Ron had stood to confront the man erupted into noise, startling the men out of their angry trances. They shared a look and then a nod, before the door behind them burst open and Harry Potter strode in, a scowl on his face and his wand in hand.

"Both of you," Potter said, pointing two fingers of one hand in Draco and Ron's direction, "Come with me. Now." The men followed Potter out the door sullenly, dragging their feet like two naughty children caught with their hands in the biscuit jar. When the three of them were outside, Potter whipped around, glaring hard and his best friend and former enemy.

Potter stared at Weasley for a long moment, and then took a deep breath as if to say something, but turned to Draco instead. "I live at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place." Then he took one of each of their arms, turning on his heel and disapparating. When they landed, both Draco and Ron stumbled forward in the dimly lit front entrance, clutching their stomachs and trying not to vomit on the ugly rug.

"What the _fuck_ , Potter?"

"Harry, was that really necessary?"

Potter just stared down at the men impassively before stepping around them and disappearing around the corner. He reappeared a moment later with two vials of thick green liquid and handed one to each man.

"Drink," he commanded in a tone that allowed no room for argument. Both men downed the potion with a grimace, shaking their heads slightly as the effects took hold. It was a Sober Up potion. Potter offered a hand to each of them, pulling them off the floor and then lead them to the living room, which was just as ghastly and poorly lit as the front hall. He sat in an armchair near the fireplace and Weasley threw himself down on the couch, crossing his arms and staring at his ratty trainers. Draco shifted nervously, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"So," Potter began after a long, uncomfortable silence. "Does anyone want to tell me why Aberforth had to send me a Patronus message at," he checked the watch on his left wrist, "four in the morning, telling me that my best friend and Draco Malfoy had their wands drawn and aimed at an unarmed wizard?" Weasley tucked his chin to his chest, clearly unwilling to fess up, and Draco awkwardly cleared his throat as Potter shifted his hard green eyes to his. Draco held Potter's gaze for a long while before breaking it with a sigh, running his fingers through blond hair that was just a tad too long.

"They insulted her," Draco muttered, still not looking at Potter. He heard the dark haired man release a heavy sigh and shift around in his chair.

"Good on you, then."

Both Draco and Ron's eyes shot to Harry, only to find him wearing a small smirk. His eyes were still sad, though. Draco cleared his throat again and shared another look with Weasley. Oddly enough, there was no hate there, only a sad sort of understanding that made Draco uncomfortable to see.

"Why did you have so much Sober Up, Harry?" Weasley asked, his posture loosening just a bit. Potter shot his friend a wry smile.

"I made it last week. I had to take one before I went to collect you lot."

Draco snorted and Weasley let out a short laugh. Potter grinned and stood up, stretching just a bit. "I'll go make some tea," he said, leaving Ron and Draco alone. The silence wasn't tense, but it wasn't uncomfortable either.

"I love her, you know," Draco finally said, meeting Weasley's gaze. _Love, not loved._ Weasley nodded.

"So do I, mate. It's hard not to," Weasley gave him a small smile, standing and walking over to the fireplace, fiddling with one of the frames there. Draco joined him, taking in a sharp breath when he saw the photo. It was of Potter, Weasley, and Granger. Potter and Weasley had on matching red earmuffs and sweaters, while Granger's were a soft green that complemented her eyes and hair. It was snowing, and Draco watched as Potter and Weasley each took handfuls of snow and smashed them into Granger's hair. There was a pause while the boys laughed at the look on Granger's face before she reached out and hooked an arm about each of their necks, pulling their heads down to press into her cold locks. Potter and Weasley pushed away, still laughing, and the picture repeated itself.

Weasley was grinning at the photo when Potter came back in the room, tea tray floating behind him. Draco turned, refusing to show the other men just how watery his eyes were, stealthily wiping the backs of his hands over his cheeks before facing them and taking a tea cup and settling onto the other end of the sofa from Weasley. The three of them sat quietly, drinking their tea and reminiscing. At half five, Draco stood, feeling more rested than he had in the entire year following Hermione's death after being around people who finally understood what he was feeling. Potter stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and Draco turned to face him, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Don't be a stranger, Malfoy. You look like shite." Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes, moving to leave, but Potter's grip on his shoulder only tightened. "Seriously, Malfoy. Hermione would be very angry with us. _"Alcohol is not the answer!"_ " Potter mimicked. Draco allowed himself a small smile, picturing Granger with her hands on her hips, glaring up at him, trying to appear intimidating as she scolded him for drinking himself into a stupor the night before, when he'd found out his mother had committed suicide when she found out his father had died in Azkaban. The stab of pain that came after was almost manageable.

"Maybe it isn't," Draco said softly. "Good day, Potter."

 **A/N:** This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction instead of just reading it. Please leave a review, as I am quite nervous about how well my writing will be received. Thank you for reading!

~M


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